


The Mothwing Diary

by Nitrobot



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, More characters to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: The very brief history of the wearer of the Mothwing Cloak.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Entry 1: Heights and Depths of the Abyss

When it hatched into the infinite darkness, it knew not why it could not see, why it could not feel the warmth of its clutch, why it could not feel _anything_ except, just for a brief moment, the sudden fear that it would soon dissolve into the void- _void, life, home-_ that surrounded it if it did not move. 

At this stage of the young vessel’s journey, it only knew one thing.

_Up. Go up._

_Climb._

_Jump._

_Kill._

_Must go up. Must reach the top… at all costs._

Its hands, arms, shadows in solid form with fingers that wisped out like smoke, reached blindly for a weapon. The first thing they grasped was smooth, more solid than the shade, its first encounter with _light_ that suddenly gave it sight even while submerged in the abyss. 

In its hands was a shard from its egg; thick, heavy, but too fragile and small to fend off anything for long. It found another sliver of egg-shell, one that had splintered to a point, but that too would surely break before it made itself useful. The egg had done its part, and now it was worthless. So the vessel put its new hands to work digging _beneath_ the shell, throwing aside the refuse of its birth until it found...

An empty mask. One of thousands that lined the ground beneath its numb feet. The vessel registered the mask dimly as a sibling, more urgently as a threat, before noticing the many others all around, looking out through empty eye sockets. These ones were dealt with. But there would be more like itself, beyond the dark of the birthplace. More with the same instructions, the same calling to go _up, up, up!_ towards…

The light. The light that had, in shame and desperation, created them. But it did not birth them. No, that was the void’s handiwork. 

The vessel discarded the mask, searched for another that would serve better. One that was shattered, sharp, struck down by another that was long gone… a horn snapped from the head, the tip broken off to act as a sword. It would do.

Yet, as the vessel ventured through the gallery of its defeated siblings, alert for any who still lived, it met far less competition than it was prepared for. Instead it learned a valuable lesson; the masks were not the threat. It was what lurked beneath them, what lurked within itself, that would end its journey before it had even begun. 

The first shade attacked without warning, emerging from the darkness that the vessel had first thought safe, reaching out a tendril as if to caress. The vessel pulled away, but not quick enough. Cutting, white-hot, pain- _anger-_ filled its head, its failed sibling lashing out with emotions it should not have known of. And so the vessel cut it down, and it recoiled before collapsing back into itself. Recognising it should not be, that it had failed, that death was its rightful punishment. Now that it knew to watch the walls as well as the floor, the vessel was not caught again so easily. 

The only thing that surprised- unsteadied- the vessel was when the abyss opened from a tunnel of corpses to a chasm of the like. Though some were not corpses until they hit the ground, falling from the infinite height that stretched above into those swirling shadow-clouds. Their deaths lead the way, and the way was clear.

With its bone-nail ready, the vessel began to climb. Up, up-

_Up towards the light… towards Father._

The ascent, of course, was not a simple feat. The siblings who fell had failed not for lack of trying or will, but simply because of one too many mistakes. A mistimed jump sending their husks towards a bed of silver thorns, thorns that glinted with that light from above as one last taunt to those who perished upon them. Tiny skittering creatures, not siblings but possessed of similar shades, crawled across every surface of pitted rock; from behind as one carefully planned their next move, or from around a blind corner as one grasped to reach solid ground. And the shades, the stubborn ghosts of the failures who hadn’t found their graves far below, were thick in the airless air, in the clouds that were not clouds after all. The vessel found purchase in the rock walls, clinging with withering strength as it threw itself across the empty space towards another platform, then another and another. Some were like mazes, the tunnels within them alive and loud with hungry lesser bugs and the shades they had claimed. Others were hardly big enough to stand on, the possibility of slipping off them very real and very fatal. 

But this was how it should be. How it must be. After all, if a vessel could not survive this challenge, then how could it possibly survive what lay beyond?

It must survive. It must not be weak. It must… it must…

A shade reached out at the edge of its vision, and in stepping back to avoid its grasp the vessel almost lost its footing, almost sent spiralling over the edge… hand reaching out for rock or soul or anything solid, finding fleeting purchase, digging into the meagre cleft of the wall and pulling itself to a temporary safety. And here, compared to what lay below, the light was almost blinding. To look between the distance travelled and the destination ahead would make one think of going from the light of a candle to that of a bright sun- if one could think at all. One could not- should not- think. One could only do what it was made for. Reach the light, reach the top, just one more leap across the void…

Just before its grip was lost, the vessel launched itself from bare rock to cold metal, landing at the very edge of the last bastion. The border between the abyss and… Father. Mother. The creators, the life-givers. The ones who wanted only the best to arrive here, at the peak. And here the vessel stood, proof of its strength, proof of its deserving to live. Here the blinding light subsided, and the vessel walked forward, ready for the greater challenge beyond…

It saw the great door, just before its head hit against the surface. And it stopped, once again… shocked. Unsure. The wall before it was vast, unscalable, unavoidable. The light bled through it in wide swathes, a carving of some kind, but touching the mark did nothing. Its light only pierced through the vessel’s hand, like it was not there at all.

It had done what it had to. It had bested the gauntlet. It had reached the summit of this void. And yet… there was nowhere else to go. The door was impenetrable, the bone-nail only cracking uselessly against its might. 

Had it lead itself astray? Was this not where it was supposed to be…?

Why was it told to go up, so far up, towards nothing?

This was… there was a mistake. What had gone wrong? The vessel turned around, suddenly anxious of siblings waiting to ambush it, but there was no one else here. Others must have survived the climb, though. Others like the vessel, others now littering the floor of the abyss with their broken masks...

And then, without sullying itself with thought, it realised what to do.

_To go up… must go down._

And so it threw itself down, following the path of its siblings… but not their fates. Their shades would emerge as it fell, floating up to bitterly strike it down when it was most vulnerable. But the vessel was not vulnerable, far from such a thing. As it fell towards a wandering shade, its weapon was ready to fight back. The carved horn hit against the shadow; a strike that lasted for just a second, and for that split moment it went solid, just long enough to give the vessel a slight push of momentum upwards. By striking the shade, the vessel’s downward velocity was halted, then ever so slightly reversed. It would not shatter pitifully against the ground, and it would not lose itself to these ghosts. No, if the ghosts refused to accept death, then they would serve their sibling as it defied death.

Through these brutal efforts, the vessel returned to the ground unharmed. And it knew that its path now lay below, _below_ the ground, below the corpses, at the very heart of the abyss. It returned to its hatch site, the remains of its egg now lost amidst broken bone and slivers of void. The void was not stagnant, not still. It flowed in one direction, thick and viscous and alive with a thousand sibling deaths. The vessel followed that flow, avoiding the heavy veins where shades would surely emerge, arriving at a stone-strewn coast at the edge of a sea. Ocean of ink, abyss within the abyss. Depthless, endless, thrashing and writhing, to scare away those who did not so dearly want to live, who dared to have second thoughts on fulfilling their purpose. 

The vessel did not think at all as it submerged itself. And as it did so, as the sea stilled around it, the vessel felt the distant presence of others. Others who had come this way, others like itself who had found their path locked off, who had realised how else to escape. If they had survived this way, then it would survive too. And if they survived, it would have to kill them. To be expected. 

After all, they would do the same to be the sole survivor of the birthplace. It was their nature. It was their purpose. And each of them equally knew that only one of them, only one, could succeed.


	2. Entry 2: Small Sanctuary in the Deepnest

The abyss was not an ocean after all. It was as liquid as the mantises were tame, more akin to tar and poison molasses than anything one could swim through. So the vessel did not swim; it carved itself a path through the syrup with its bone-nail, cleaving apart that vast nothing into chunks and slivers that could be pushed aside, pulling itself through the gap between the torn masses before they stitched themselves back to form with long shade-threads. 

And as it sank deeper, deeper beneath its birthplace, it found that the way forward became less clear… less tempting. Unlike the black that greeted its birth, this darkness was not a comfort. It was not safe, it was not home. It was suffocating.

If the vessel did not reach the end, its arm would tire, its nail would break, the shadow would overwhelm and claim its shade, and it would drown in the remnants of its own self. It would lose itself in these depths, and flay and flail and  _ fail, so frail with its pathetic nail, abandoned by the king in pale- _

...But it had no self to lose. So what did it matter? Yes. It had come far. It would not risk ruin with such thoughts now, such thoughts that were not even its own. There was nothing to fear. Nothing to feel at all.

With this assertion the only thing in its mind, the vessel finally emerged, whole and hollow still, on the other side of that Abyss. As it clawed itself free of the shade-grip, pulling its bone-nail in its wake, it fell to a heap on the flat ground below. The nail steadied its diminutive body, the shade within severing itself from the last few clinging tendrils of the abyss. Behind the vessel was a stream of void, where it must have emerged from, though instead of a flat sea it was vertical like a moving wall, defying all sense of gravity. It was translucent to a degree, the thin anomalies showing something beyond the wall. Whatever was being guarded there, it was not worth the risk of being devoured by the void-sea again. So the vessel turned its back to the jaws of the river, away from the dead-end of its home. Onwards, upwards.

The shadows here were not alive, not familiar, though they did bristle as the vessel passed by. Walls lined with shells, embedded into the rock, provided sufficient grip for the vessel to patiently ascend the many ridges and ravines ahead. The only way was up, and that was the way it knew best. Some walls required a careful descent down to the other side, or were parted by a tall chasm that could only just be seen in the darkness, cleared by a well-prepared jump. The vessel’s tattered robes, thin remains of its egg’s membrane still clinging to the shade incubated within- as if not realising the life it had held was long gone-, fluttered behind like damp pupal wings with each leap of instinct. The vessel could not feel cold, nor wet, nor wind nor pain. At least, it was not supposed to. But this dark place  _ was  _ cold, the wind sparse and sour through the cracks in the walls, the air heavy with the respiration of a thousand broods lurking within. Though it could not sense these facts, it knew that danger was inherent here, that caution was mandatory with such low vision, that just ahead of the claustrophobic walls there was the glimpse of a creature with jaws bared to-

The vessel readied its nail, but only for a moment before realising it wouldn’t be needed. The creature had been split into two mighty halves, its legs splayed towards the ceiling and mandibles bared empty. This one was dead, but the vessel could hear beasts of similar size roaming far above. It tested the strength of the nail against the corpse’s carapace, and could not even dent the thick hide. If it came across the living kin, it would do no good to attack them. Sometimes the correct choice was to run away, to save one’s strength for the unavoidable fight. In a place like this, there were sure to be plenty.

The vessel continued upwards, the sound of tunneling monsters growing louder, the walls and ceilings shaking as if they might collapse at any moment. This cave was a meagre thing, the only gaps leading back down towards the fallen creature and up towards those still breathing. Through that ceiling gap, the vessel could see many legs and jaws passing by at semi-regular intervals. If it was quick, if it could get behind one of the beasts and follow it unseen… it had no other way forward. 

The vessel waited, counting between each gap, perfecting its timing, before braving the leap upwards just as a creature disappeared into the unknown beyond. The tunnel was lined with dirt, carved out by a convoy of these crawling things, but that was all the vessel had time to notice before it scurried ahead, staying just out of range of the burrower’s many tireless legs. There would be another beast following behind, and if it saw easy prey ahead it would not hesitate to surge forward and clamp down with those giant mandibles. It must be quick, silent, most of all silent… 

At the first gap in the dirt, it dropped down onto a floor that suddenly burst to life. A pit of sharp-tooth grubs and clawed larva lunged to devour the vessel, almost succeeding before it managed to pull itself away from their jaws. The nest shrieked, a painful sound against the backdrop of burrowing beasts, but did not attempt to chase the vessel. They were confined to their nest, and with this knowledge the vessel gave itself a moment to assess the damage. Its mask had taken a hit, its shade shaking from the impact… a regrettable mistake, but one it would survive, one it would not make again. It did not turn its back on the squirming nest as it advanced, only changing direction when it heard the whistle of wind. 

This was not a cave. It was an overhang of metal, a platform so similar to the one at the peak of the Abyss with the locked door. But that was not what caused the vessel to stall. Astride the platform was a massive carriage held aloft by a set of thick poles that passed far into the distance, soaring over the cavernous drop below. If the vessel could still hear the sounds of drilling and chittering behind it, it might have assumed this thing was another deceased or merely slumbering monster. 

But no, it was some sort of inanimate mechanism… a vehicle? A tram, in fact- one of few built for the most noble citizens of this land. The vessel did not know of such things, of course, but as it approached it found familiarity in the emblems inlaid within the tram’s design. However, that was where its appraisal ended. The mechanism was silent, non-functioning, and there was no obvious way to enter the compartment. The tram led away over a vast chasm that the vessel would not dare try to cross on its own, no matter how the light glowing around the far clouds tried to tempt it that way. So there was nothing else to do but go back the way it came, and continue to the other side. 

This time the vessel was more confident in its traversal of the tunnels, mapping its way back to the familiar cave and skipping over it, finding another wider cavern beyond. 

A cavern… enclosed, but not dark. In fact, light spilled over every low corner as the vessel drew near, its source a shimmering pool gathered in the cleft of the center. A spring, its heat causing a fine bright mist to hover over it, motes of dust turned into free-floating embers that danced across the cave. Beside it sat an intricately-detailed bench, metal but free of rust and grease. The vessel looked up and found the cave had no ceiling except for darkness, no other secret entrances in sight. No one would ambush it here. But then… there  _ was  _ no one else here. The tunneling sounds had faded to lay deep within the rock, and the other writhing nests must have been elsewhere in this maze of dirt and stone. No other bug had found this small sanctuary, or perhaps the local residents simply had no need for it. 

Alone. Warm. Quiet. Was this peace? It felt safe, but... 

The vessel approached the bench first, cautiously laying a hand on the metal. It had absorbed the heat from the spring so close by, condensation laying slick on the surface. With a look towards where it had come from, the vessel pulled itself onto the seat of the bench and rested against the back, keeping one hand on its bone-nail. It did not hurt or tire, but it had damage to mend and time to spare… here. In this place. This safe place.

_ Alone. _

_ Warm.  _

_ Quiet. _

_ Peace... _

The shade within had settled, no longer rattling in the mask or pulling at the carapace. How long had the vessel been sitting for? It had no way of knowing- the cavern had not changed, the spring’s water did not ripple. Only the dust motes were proof that time was passing at all in this place, their eternal dance in the steam drifts catching the seconds as they turned to minutes.

The vessel quickly left the bench, and almost lost its footing from the numbness of its legs. It should have expected that- it was  _ always _ numb, after all- but this was different from the background noise that perpetually hummed within its limbs. It was heavy, dragging the vessel down, telling it to fall and lie down and never get back up-

But then, around its feet, spreading up from its shade-cloaked legs, the numb pain was gone. Not replaced nor returned to its default state, simply erased. The vessel felt nothing, and saw shimmering water spreading out around it. The spring had swelled over its edge, overflowing in a small puddle which lapped at the very edge of the bench, a puddle the vessel now knelt within. This water was the opposite of the abyss; liquid, running right through the fingers that tried to grasp it, translucent and calm. Most of all… it was nourishing. The vessel had been reinvigorated by the bench, but the spring gave it energy to last for a long way away, energy that felt like it could become power... what  _ was _ this water, that was not just that? The vessel, still kneeling, looked closer towards the spring, as if to fall right into it.

It was deepest at its middle, where the light came from. It was not the same light that the vessel was trusted to work towards, but it was enough to keep the beasts at bay- those who refused to venture this far. There was no danger here. No need for the nail to be drawn, or attended to. No need for the vessel to guard itself.

And so it left behind its spur of bone to stand in the spring, the shreds of its egg membrane levitating around it as it floated upon the surface, soaking in the relief it hadn’t known it needed. If the well had been slightly deeper, the vessel might have been able to teach itself to swim. But the vessel was content-conflicted- _ allowed  _ to take just a moment’s rest, just until it forgot what the numbness was. Staring up as it waited, peering into the vaulted darkness hanging over this strange oasis, it saw now that the cavern was not as closed off as it seemed. There was a hole in the roof, where the teardrop rocks clustered in a halo that was not as dark as that around it, where there was just a sliver of…

Light. Above. The vessel reached out a hand, seeing its shade arm disappear as it passed before the dark above, but the speck of light shone through the palm. There was no way to climb up out of this cavern towards that light, but the fact that it could be seen was proof enough that the vessel was not lost. It had not failed yet. It would reach the surface of this place, where Father was waiting. It was not too late.

_ Not too late...  _

The vessel left the warmth of the spring, retrieving its weapon, and circled the water to leave the cave. It knew that if it entered the spring again, if it lingered here for too long, this time it may not want to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we stop by the Mantis Lords, who wonder "who is this sassy lost child"


	3. Entry 3: Mercy of the Mantis Lords

In this dark realm of cobwebs and cold dirt, there were three distinct hostile enemies. The vessel almost died to each of them.

First were the beasts that burrowed beneath the ground- not the giant ones that patrolled the tunnels, no- these ones must have been their spawn left to fend for themselves. They were small and weak, falling to just a few swift swipes from the nail when they crawled out from the dirt underfoot, but their true strength lay in their numbers. When one was slain, another two would take its place, then another four to replace those, surging up from the ground to drag down anyone who tried to run. The vessel did not run, did not even know yet that running was an option, but it soon found itself pressed against the corner of a very narrow passage, the creatures swarming towards it to strike with clawed legs and ever-ravenous teeth. 

The vessel swept out with its nail, trying to push them back, but the press of their desperate bodies made aiming difficult, made it impossible to dodge the mandibles trying to tear at its shade. Their swarming was so loud, their screeches of hunger and rage and the vessel’s own shell shaking against the wall at its back… there was no way to hear the ground beneath cracking, falling apart. No way to anticipate falling down into the new chasm that yawned open below, the very bottom brimming with jagged spines. 

The vessel did not feel itself falling, though. A desperate lash of its nail had embedded the spur into the wall, keeping the vessel tethered to the very edge of the new gap in the floor. It could hang there, looking down at the jagged trap, watching the dirt creatures tumble helplessly down from the other side to slam into the spikes.

Betrayed by their own home. The vessel waited until they had all perished; none of them noticed the hole until they were already charging into it, too blinded by the prey in front of them to see certain death. Once the way was clear, it cautiously threw itself back to the other side to clamber up onto solid ground. This time it knew to move fast, to avoid the ground churning beneath with either beasts or spikes, not even stopping to look back as it ascended to another level of the maze. 

The darkness around it did not change, but it could tell it was getting somewhere as it came to a wide cavern carpeted with squirming nests and walled with thick webs. Here the vessel discovered the second type of beast. These things were long legs plugged into an orb-like head that swelled with orange pus, which should have made them easy to find even in the dark. But they could appear from nowhere, swinging in on invisible strands and dancing on the air itself. Their smaller spawn would crawl across the ground, as if they were bait to lure in hopeful predators that would be quickly picked off by their watchful parents. The vessel discovered this the hard way as it found itself surrounded by the seething spiders, trying to flee and strike behind with its bone-nail at the same time. It found a narrow tunnel at the edge of the cavern, but did not make the mistake of going right down it. The bloated creatures could not fit through the narrow space, so from the safe alcove the vessel attacked whenever one came close enough to try and swipe it with one of six jagged legs. This worked well enough, until the infants came crawling. They were not as big, and could easily slip through the gap to reach the vessel who now had no choice but to trap itself in the depths of the tunnel, using its nail to probe for any opening above to escape through. There was just one, near the dead-end ahead, and the vessel wasted no time in pulling itself to the shelf of rock that hung overhead. It pushed onwards- but it could still hear the children, the spider spawn behind it. Over its shoulder it saw their glowing amber eyes closing in, and learned that they could climb walls too. This time there was no escape, no pit to lure them into, no means to flee. The creatures had to die before the vessel did, and they almost broke the bone-nail by the time they were all dealt with, leaving the vessel’s shade almost in tatters as it lay clinging to soul, to itself. No more skittering young legs. No orange eyes probing for prey. Once the vessel made sure of this, again it did not look back.

It had met its match with these two creatures, but it could survive against them. It could stand victorious over the carapace corpses, in a cave of cobbled dirt; use the harvested soul from its victims to patch the holes in its shade, be ready to fight them off once more. If that was all that this vast underground had to throw at the vessel, it would have emerged with body and shade intact.

But the third entities dwelling in this maze would not go down without a slaughter. Would not go down  _ at all _ . These animals were even more bloated than the spiders, faster than the dirt dwellers, resting in dark dens as if asleep. The vessel had assumed this when it found the first one, had tried to simply walk around the slumbering thing. But as soon as the vessel drew near, it came to life with a startled croak. Six eyes, three rows of two, glared at the vessel, burning with the same amber glow that had claimed the others of this place. The vessel stared back, frozen, unsure of what to do. It hadn’t expected a fight. It hadn’t even readied its nail-

And that was when the creature lashed out. The face split apart, revealing that it wasn’t a face at all but two massive blades attached to forearms that whipped towards the vessel, almost slamming it against the far wall of the small cave with such force that its shade fought to stay within its shell. 

_ Dizzy… hurt...  _

The vessel had been hit before, but this was like none it had lived through. The slash of the claws as well as the impact had left the shade trembling, barely holding together even when it was replenished with the meagre soul that the vessel still had. If it had to take another attack like that, it might not survive... 

But what else could it do? There was no other path forward, no way to trap the huge crawling creature or go around it. It had retreated back into the cave, its glowing eyes the only sign that it was still there. If the vessel could strike at those eyes, then the beast might be blinded… it passed the bone-nail to a ready hand as it stepped forward to stab-

And found the nail  _ tink _ ing uselessly against the forearms masking the true face, just before they unfolded to once again strike. Though it braced itself this time, the vessel was still sent flying backwards with a crash of dust. It found that it held nothing, that its hands were gone, and for an endless moment of panic it assumed that its shade had lost its stability, fled back to the abyss and left its shell truly empty, barren, worthless,  _ dead. _

But then it blinked, finding the dirt floor before it and only its hands empty, the weak bone-nail lying some distance away in front of the giant not-sleeping beast. If the vessel went to retrieve the nail, the beast would attack one last time to kill it once and for all. But there was nothing else that would serve as a weapon, nothing buried under the dirt or trapped in the cobwebs. Nothing better than the bone left stranded out of reach...

But if the vessel could retrieve it quickly, there might still be a chance to survive. There was space in the rock above, just enough for the vessel to clear itself over the creature. And though the forearms could sweep forward, their range had a limit. The beast would need to move forward, unshield itself and then lash out. 

If the vessel was quick, it could dodge the attack and jump over the beast, using the nail to bounce off the hulking body and clear the rest of the distance. With its size, the thing wouldn’t be able to turn itself around fast enough to strike back as the vessel landed. 

_ The nail… the siblings… descending... _

Just as it had done with its siblings, when it found the door out of the abyss sealed shut, it would turn this threat into an advantage. And it would emerge from this place alive. It had to. Its soul was depleted, and it would not survive a single mistake. 

Knowing that this was a test, that a failed vessel was not one that should be alive in the first place, this vessel stepped forward. The beast croaked again, a sound of curiosity that quickly became sinister as the many eyes narrowed all at once. It came scuttling forward on hidden legs as the vessel bent down to salvage the battered bone-nail, and the vessel kept its head inclined to watch for the inevitable attack. It was delayed this time. The beast was watching, perhaps wondering why this prey was not dead yet, planning how to correct that flaw. It was just a second of hesitation, and the vessel knew that it would not last longer than that. 

It jumped, just as the beast unmasked itself with its knives. The vessel cleared their reach with its leap, ragged pupal remains fluttering behind, and it came descending towards the beast’s bulging body with its nail at hand. It sank deep into the creature’s flank, piercing the blue shroud that covered it, piercing so deep that the vessel could not pull the nail free as it pushed itself away. The sharp edge stood upright, embedded deep in the thing’s back, and the vessel was left holding the broken hilt of the horn that had brought it this far. There was nothing it could do. The nail was gone, but it could still escape. It could still-

Run. Flee. Escape the danger. No way to fight it. No  _ need  _ to fight it, not now. Save yourself. Save your  _ self _ . Save…

The vessel didn’t know what was supposed to come after that. If anything  _ was  _ supposed to come next, if it was supposed… if it was allowed to feel this way. Feel. Feel anything... 

It knew it had to stay alive. It had a purpose, one that was counteractive to death. It had to reach Father and Mother. Then everything would be clear. Then the vessel could rest, and the abyss would let go, and… 

And then what? 

The vessel was not to know that, or think of it, and so it surfaced from those thoughts before it went too deep. It had already lost itself for long enough, not realising where it was now. This would not do. It was not good enough. It had to pay attention to survive, and not wonder. Think without thinking. Know without knowing. Otherwise, it was no matter if it was alive or not. Better to die than live as a failure. Better to have been slain in the abyss than forsake itself now. 

So where was it now? In that brief betrayal of its purpose, it had not moved entirely without instinct. It had moved upwards, sticking to the still and thin shadows, always towards the light that would guide its shade to where it should be. Through the diluted darkness it passed by dead creatures, like the old corpse that had greeted it, though these ones had a clear cause of death. Each one was impaled by long spears; none small enough for the vessel to take for itself as a replacement nail, but it seemed to have left behind the worst of the danger in this place. 

And now, at the peak of this buried fanged world, it only had one obstacle left. Before it, at the edge of the mound of corpses, stood yet another door. Yet another obstruction… but this one it would not walk away from. Its nail was gone, but it still had hands curled into immaterial fists. It would open the door with them. It would bang and knock and thud those hands on the door until it gave away, or until its shade gave up. The spears in the corpses had to come from somewhere, somewhere beyond this door. If the vessel made itself known, it would open. If the vessel had proven itself worthy, it would open. If the vessel was the one that was meant to reach the end-

It opened.

“Foul creature from the Deepnest! You will face the gravest punishment for daring to-!” Words, the first that the vessel had ever heard, were delivered in a hiss that ended abruptly. Three spears were aimed at the vessel’s mask, and down their lengths it could see the three wielders standing close together. Each one was identical, equally towering and brimming with enmity, their weapons filed to a perfect point that could pierce through the vessel in a single fluid motion. 

Yet they didn’t. The opportunity was there, and instead they pulled their spears back- just an inch, just enough to clear space between them and the vessel. 

“Trespassers to the mantis village… forbidden.”

“Leave now.”

“Or perish.”

The vessel could not tell which mantis said what words, but it was clear enough that each sentence came from a different one. Clearer still was the warning, the promise that pressing forward this way would only lead to doom. But there was nowhere else to go, none that the vessel had seen. The only other direction was backwards, back into the dark of shrieks and squirming sharp legs with nothing to fight them off, back to even more certain doom. Did these creatures, these mantises, not know what it was meant for? Did they not realise the importance of its mission? If the vessel was still armed, it could have at least fought its way past them, but now not even that was an option. 

What else was there to do…? No way to fight. Nowhere to run. It had not learned of any other way, yet the mantises were waiting for its next move- impatiently, immovable. It had to keep going, it  _ had  _ to- how could these three not know…?

In that moment of confusion, that would become loss, that would surely become panic if left unattended, the vessel had its very first idea- the very first sign of its downfall. 

_ Tell them. Where to go.  _

_ Where must go. _

It pointed over the mantises curving heads, towards whatever ceiling hung above them. The middle of the three first tensed her claws when she saw the vessel move, a moment away from thrusting her spear, but then her head inclined slightly towards where it was pointing. Not enough for the vessel to leave her sight, just enough to see where the gesture lead to.

"You… wish to go upwards?" Her voice was the strongest of the three, and at its sound the two by her side pulled back their spears. The vessel felt that an answer was expected, but it only knew of moving its head to communicate. A nod for yes, a shake for no. It nodded this time, a single tilt of its mask towards the ground. There it saw the mantises step back in unison, as the voices of the other two became whispers.

"It has no stench of infection on it…"

"And no means to fight us."

“To challenge it in this state…”

“Dishonorable.”

The mantises shared a single look, first at each other and then down at the vessel, before their spears were sheathed at their sides.

"We will escort you away from our territory.” 

“Once you leave our village, you will be attacked if you dare return.” 

“Is this agreeable?"

_ Yes… up. Away from here. _

The vessel nodded again, and the mantises parted just enough to allow space for it to pass. The village they had shielded was almost blinding with its light, and the vessel relied on the subtle threat of the mantis leaders following behind to guide it through. It could hear hissing, unsettled growling of other villagers around, but they made no move to attack. As the vessel’s vision slowly adjusted, it saw only the edges of the village passing by before it was left behind, wooden structures replaced with thick white stalks and their smooth spotted caps.

“Remember our agreement, little one. Our mercy is a rare and precious thing.” 

The vessel heard only one of the mantis lords; only one had chosen to take it this far, the others surely still guarding the door to the place they called Deepnest. And now it was on its own- out of that dark place, at least, but now somewhere completely foreign...

What was this realm, then? A single breath meant inhaling a thousand spores, each one swelling in its throat, choking like the abyss it had left far behind. It had no weapon, its bone-nail broken into pieces and abandoned in the Deepnest. It had no way of knowing where it was, where it should be… all it knew was all it might ever know. Go up. Find the light. Do not die. Do not disappoint. Do not…

_ Do not.  _

The vessel readied its empty hands to climb amongst the shrooms, ignoring the sweat of the acid pools, ignoring the ever-present urge to look back. If the mantis lord was still there, she would surely kill it for the offence.


	4. Entry 4: The Fungus Among Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this one out; I tried taking notes of the vessel's path through the Fungal Wastes via actual gameplay and it ended up being more in-depth than expected, and of course I ended up getting distracted by other commitments until now.

The fungus stalks were slippery, swollen with the acid in the air and the fumes that hovered over the hissing pools. The vessel could climb them only by laying itself flat against the shrumal walls, grabbing the mushrooms by their roots and simply hoping they didn’t snap as it pulled its weight against them. It was a slow and agonizing ascent, each movement bringing the very real possibility of tumbling back down, to snap against the ground or flounder in a pit of acid, but the vessel knew of no other way. It only knew up, and if it could not make that journey then it did not deserve to reach the end of it. 

But it had not seen any other siblings since its escape from the abyss. There was no one else that  _ could _ make the journey… no one else that could find Father and bask in his pride. The vessel was the only option, and if it failed… 

It would not. So it kept climbing, and as it reached an fungi-infested alcove it witnessed something… strange. One of the mushrooms, much larger than the ones embedded in the walls of this cavern, had grown limbs and a mouth. Its legs kept it standing while one arm brandished a thin spear, the other waving wildly as the mushroom warbled to itself. 

“OOOOhh, I smell it! The glorious glow of salvation, so close at hand, so near to me! The taste, the being, the radiance within! I will, I will take it, I will savor it, nurture it, that glorious light-!” Its tirade was interrupted by a hiss, louder than the ambience of the acid lakes, that culminated in a harsh  _ snap  _ across the air that sent the vessel fleeing to the cover of the fungal wall, and which sent the walking mushroom flying onto its back.

“You dare try to vanquish my most holy light?! To silence the joy of my redemption!” The mushroom jabbed its spear towards the ceiling, where a bulging plant dangled down. “Woe upon you, upon all who would turn away from that most wonderful ember, that most magnificent of-!” 

As the spear pierced the plant, the vessel noted that it was in fact another kind of living mushroom just before it spat out a thick spore in its dying gasp. This spore hung for a moment in the heavy air before detonating, sending another loud  _ thump  _ through the air as the other mushroom’s body was left limp on the ground. It did not rise after this attack, and its spear was left cracked in half within his dead grip. The vessel approached the scene, making sure from a distance that all danger had been dealt with, before appraising the broken spear. It was hard to tell what it had been made from; not wood like the mantis structures, but harder than the bone of the vessel’s first long-gone nail. Like the first nail it had cracked in a way that made one end narrow down to a splinter, and it was small enough for the vessel to wield. At least the mushroom’s death was not in vain.

_ Death is a consequence. Death is a punishment. Not being good enough. Not being worthy. Worthy, the reward. _

The vessel found clambering up the fungal walls easier with a nail to pierce through the thick mass of shrooms, giving a more stable anchor as it threw itself upwards. At the top of the ridge it found a single bulging mushroom… though this wasn’t one to climb over. It was floating, suspended in the air, over a stretch of pitted ground where the fungus had withered away to dead stalks. The vessel stood above this ground, looking over the top of the hovering thing to a wooden platform that looked similar to those of the mantis territory. But the vessel could see no mantis guards, none of the creatures that had eyed it with caution as it was escorted up from the Deepnest. Perhaps it was just a warning for what lay ahead- or, in the vessel’s case, behind it. And, other than an opening above, it was the only way forward in sight. The vessel had taken every route upwards until now, but it hesitated this time. It could not feel Father’s light that way… or at all, anymore. The faint whisper was gone, and so it had to find its own way. Without the King to give guidance, the vessel had only its other instinct to rely on- survival. There was no telling what was waiting at the top of this fungal chasm, so the way forward seemed the safest, the most likely to not end in death. But how to get over the gap…?

First the vessel tested the strength of its new nail, embedding it into the spores at its feet and bending against its handle. Unlike the brittle bone of its first, this one seemed to hold steady. So it need not fear of the weapon breaking in the hide of the balloon creature. Whether or not it was sentient, whether or not it was dangerous, it was an obstacle. Then, with an ample run, it launched itself towards the fungus-crusted bulge and struck down, bouncing easily off its stretched skin as it was carried over to the wooden entrance. It heard the creature below make a sound of surprise, a gurgling groan followed by a hiss, and it saw a foul orange cloud erupt from the low ground. The wisps could not harm it, but the full force of the fumes would surely cause damage- just as they had done to the mushrooms below. A good thing to know, without finding it out the hard way. 

In this new wooden area the vessel saw a lever, its mechanism branded with a face all mantises seemed to share. It was guarded only by another shroom being walking mindlessly back and forth, its spines barely quivering. The lever was more of a threat than the being itself- the vessel had no way of knowing what it controlled, and even with its new weapon it knew better than to unnecessarily risk the wrath of the mantis lords. So it left the shroom and mechanism untouched, emerging into a now-familiar fungus filled realm. This one felt less open, less like a chasm and more like a cave. The spores were thicker, the dampness all around making them hang in the air. Maybe that was where the balloons came from- suspended spores that fed on each other, coming together and merging into singular giant beings unable to ever move from their birthplace. What a pitiful contrast to the shades, the siblings, whose purpose was to move and escape and to kill like on sight. 

Not that the vessel noticed such a thing. Instead it found spores that had found themselves rooted not in the air but in the ground, blooming into bulbous things that resisted all touch and threw them back with great repulsive force. The vessel could in fact bounce from these things without limit, and it found them growing more and more populous as it ventured into the narrow spore-choked corridors ahead until it reached a wall. This one could be scaled with some effort… but there was some of that curious pink-hued fungus at the very bottom. Not as bright as the others, not as firm or large, but it looked like enough to propel the vessel high enough over the edge looming above. 

As it turned out, the vessel only just managed to reach the height of the wall before the fungus below collapsed into itself with a feeble cough of dead spores as it was punctured and left in ruins, its only job now done. And it was here atop this wall that the vessel felt pride for the first time- in itself? In its weapon? In bending the world to its whim, like Father did so effortlessly? It could not know. But it knew that this feeling was… good. Like the hot spring. The rest at the bench. Something refreshing. Something to keep going for. 

Knowing that it would outlast its siblings. Yes. That was the cause. That was allowed. Father would approve.

_ Pride in self. Pride in no self. One and the same...? _

The vessel could decide such things before reaching Father. There was no knowing how far away he was, not yet, but the vessel knew he was somewhere, waiting patiently for his perfect vessel. This one would succeed- simply because, if it was perfect, it had no choice but to succeed. And there was no greater burden for one of its kind.

Where would its burden take it next, then? Ahead was another floating balloon and smaller specimens of the same. The larva of the spores, not yet fed to their adult size. Beyond them was a hole in the floor, the only passage in sight. From its vantage point the vessel once again passed over the lone adult, hearing it let out a startled hiss of gas just before it dropped into the hole.

This was the easy part, of course. Beyond lay a pool- no, a  _ sea  _ of bubbling acid, the source of all others that found themselves gathered in worn holes and deep pits. Some rocks thrust themselves out from the sea, and roots of some bouncing fungus were somehow able to survive in the submerged soil. The spore larva seemed to favor this place too as they hovered blissfully blind above the vapor mist- few predators would be able to survive long in the acid, the vessel assumed, allowing these things to thrive in this place.

But few predators were vessels, armed with nails and the expectations of the Pale King. The larva spawn and fungus were arranged in such a way that, just barely, one could bounce themself to solid ground. And through the haze of the acid fumes the vessel could see another hole in the fungal floor, a passage beneath the sea. It tapped its wooden nail against the edge of the sheer drop down to the acid, and locked its attention on the nearest floating spore. 

It jumped. It bounced, striking down with practiced precision, hitting spores and shrooms over and over, landing on solid rock just before flying across the endless acid until it reached a safe place to rest. It would do so just for a moment, just long enough to plan the next move. 

That was what it thought, until it saw the red thorns hanging from above. 

It was a tangled mess of vines trickling down, like a bristling teardrop to complement the acid floor. It was impassable, not an obstacle but a warning of what would come. It was a sign of peril, pain, danger- and yet also comfort. Safety. Love, without condition and without trial. It meant only one thing,  _ could  _ only mean one thing, to the poor forsaken vessel. 

_ Mother... _

The White Lady had bloomed those thorns herself. The most rudimentary protection for a Pale Being, but effective enough. The vessel knew this, because the Pale King knew this. As he had imbued his will into his vessels, he had also done so with his knowledge. This vessel only did not know why. An accident, perhaps. An unintended side-effect. But it did not matter much why. It knew how, at least, to tell that this was the same White Lady that had crafted its egg.

Just as the vessel could sense its Father, it could sense the presence of its Mother in the same, but also the opposite, way. The Mother could be found by looking for what was absent from the Father. In short, the White Lady was found by knowing what to look for; the Pale King was found by knowing what  _ not  _ to look for. You would not find such things as love and safety in the King, not since his decision had been made. And so, until now, the vessel did not bother with such things. But the path to the King could not be far from that of the Queen, the vessel reasoned. And it found such a path over the acid, towards a passage hewn through the thick fungal walls ahead. 

The Moss Chapel, as it would soon be branded by those infected who infested it with their prostelysing, was not yet closed off to the creatures of this land. Within the walls of this place the vessel found not the spores lingering behind nor bloated moss-covered bugs, but a single bench upon a dais. At the sight of it, the vessel only then realised how far it had come. How far it had fought, to come so close to one of its creators at last. 

The White Lady was near, yes. Somewhere beyond, somewhere close and yet so far away. For the Pale King would surely never venture far from his queen. 

The vessel told itself this. It rested upon the bench, the steel as cold and hard as the one in the depths of Deepnest, and told itself this again and again. But the truth of its desire was undeniable. 

It is here, between the edges of the Fungal Wastes and the Queen’s Gardens, that we set the scene of the vessel’s first crime. It felt for its mother. It felt for her love. And, as it found the path towards her, it sealed the certainty of its final fate. 


	5. Entry 5: Bounty of the Mother's Gardens

Beyond the Moss Chapel and its overlooked bench, the vessel found the end of the acid sea, and more still. Past the caustic waters and their volatile vapors was a cavern of green- vines, leaves, stems, blooming flowers, lush and vibrant and lively and everything that the White Lady embodied within her pale being. Even the pool of acid below had signs of life thriving, as a hard-shelled creature patrolled back and forth through the bubbling liquid with orange eyes set deep within its carapace. It was unclear if it was crawling along the bottom of the pool or simply floating on the surface, but the vessel could tell just from looking that its spiked back would not offer safe passage. 

But where else was there to go? The path upwards, the one that called to the vessel’s instincts, was smooth stone with engravings that only just touched the surface. The thick vines of this realm dangled too far ahead for the vessel to reach them, and the outcrops of rock that they supported were equally out of its grasp. 

It only needed a boost, though. Just enough to reach above the acid and the creature that dwelled within it. If its shell was as hard as it looked…

The vessel’s nail  _ thunked _ off the spiked hide, not even a dent left behind, and it was launched just high enough to clear the distance to the nearest rocky platform. The vines were now in reach, thick and sturdy and strong enough to take the weight of the vessel’s nail- for the vessel itself had almost no weight at all to worry about. The bone of its mask and the mass of its pupal body allowed it some gravity, but the shade within the shell would have simply floated away if not contained- perhaps all the way back to the abyss it had come from, to start all over again. 

But that would not happen, so it was not something to contemplate. Not something to consider. Even the White Lady, as compassionate and forgiving as she was made to be, would not tolerate thoughts of failure in her spawn. Would not tolerate thoughts, at all. She and the Pale King were two sides of a single shard of geo, after all. Their methods differed, but their goal was the same. 

The vessel must be fast. 

The vessel must be strong. 

Above all else, the vessel must be  _ pure _ . 

They could sense such things. They would know if a vessel had failed just as well as they could sense one that had met their expectations. Just as one vessel could sense its parents, the parents could sense their spawn. Surely they could. Surely they were both waiting in anticipation for their perfect vessel. 

_ Mother, can you see me? Can you… feel me? _

This vessel did not expect an answer to its silent cry… no, no it did not. It was too busy fending off pieces of foliage that had suddenly come to life, their thin wings buzzing and leaf-borne bodies rustling as they descended upon the new prey. Within the shadows of their branches their eyes glowed a familiar orange shade, and when the vessel struck them down their blood too was orange. Their corpses tumbled to the acid below, yet the spiked thing barely noticed them. The vessel observed the pale stains on its nail, the dripping orange fluid and its foul lingering smell, before wiping it clean with a long stem of grass. Once it made sure the green-laced sky was clear, it began ascending with the vines and stout branches that wound their way through this place, overgrown amongst the intricate stone walls and their curious carvings. 

Over the crest of the walls, it found the first sign that it was on, as it thought at the time, the right path. The red thorns. They liked to grow in clusters, climbing amongst the vines and taking back the territory for themselves, and their path took the vessel upwards- yes,  _ yes _ , this was the way. Mother was waiting, guiding one of her own towards her. If the vessel could just see her, hear her gentle words, then it would have all it needed to finish the journey towards Father. It would be enough.

But first, the White Lady had trials of her own in place to protect her from the perils of this world. There was a stairway of sorts that followed the thorns, thin metal grates spaced apart from each other to guide visitors through the gardens. But as the vessel set itself upon the first step, it squealed in protest and gave out a rusted clank of metal. The vessel, for all its minuscule weight, was just heavy enough to activate the step’s hidden hinge; it folded down, collapsing beneath the vessel and sending it falling back to the cold dew-stained stone below. The vessel landed on its side, saving its nail from hitting the ground too hard rather than itself, and lay in a heap of its ragged pupal wings as the grate above snapped back into its usual place with a familiar squeak of metal. 

In its moss-covered daze, the vessel learned a valuable lesson. The garden’s beauty demanded a price, and did not tolerate those who lingered or hesitated. At least the vessel had learned this fact relatively painlessly. The chosen one had to be quick, after all. Not only strong in its instincts, but fast to react to them, yet also able to recognise when to take its time. The White Lady would not temper her expectations of her spawn, especially not here in her own domain.

The vessel did not pick itself back up until it was sure of the path forward, until the damp moss at its back had soaked right through to its shade, until it could feel its Mother’s dew drops giving weight to the body that might otherwise float away if it took another hit. And with the dew flying behind it, the vessel began the ascent through the White Lady’s labyrinth. 

The steps flew open behind it, the moss creatures swarmed after, and the twisting thorns led the way. In its single-minded pursuit the vessel only vaguely recognised the shapes of the metal fences, the familiar emblems wrought within the thin and intricate welded structures, as the thorns took it up and then down, red-tinged arrows to point towards safety. And then, as it fell towards another flimsy grate, the vessel realised where the emblems had been seen before. 

The machine in Deepnest, the bloated carriage hanging from the rail that disappeared into nowhere. The doors and windows had been engraved with those symbols, masking whatever was inside. Another sign of the vessel’s parents, of their feat in taming this world to their will. Why hadn’t the vessel recognised the machine as such, then? Why had it only now…?

Its distraction was swiftly punished as the step below snapped open, sending the vessel plummeting towards a shallow pit of its Mother’s thorns. It twisted its frail body in the air, trying to steer itself to the solid ground astride the pit, not seeing the hovering patch of moss below before they both collided. The vessel was pierced by spiked branches within the fly’s bushy body, torn by their grip as it fell with a hard  _ smack  _ against the stone. Again it lay on its back, now soaked through with orange blood rather than dew, though the creature it had hit did not pounce upon this easy prey. It had been shaken by the attack as well, blindsided, only reacting in blind self-defense. Its leaves shivered, and then went still as the vessel pierced the body with its nail. A stab for a stab. A life for a life. Mother would surely be smiling from her throne. 

But for now, her thorns led deeper and deeper still into her gardens, into a cavern that had long been forsaken to the cloak of her wilderness. The thorns carpeted the ground and climbed up the pillars, daring anyone to venture too close or to slip or spend one second too long within the maze of grates that stretched in front. More moss-flies infested this area, demanding attention or avoidance depending on where their idle paths through the air took them, but they were not the only ones standing in the vessel’s way. They were flying too, but not under guise of leaves nor with bristling branches- their size was too large for such tactics, and the giant scythes on the end of their arms showed that they did not need to hide. 

These were mantises, though not the same ones that had taken the vessel away from Deepnest. These ones had a well-known stench wafting around them. Mindless. Hostile. Very dangerous. Why had the White Lady let such things take residence in her realm? The vessel only knew that they had to be disposed of, for this time it could fight back. 

The nearest mantis had now spotted the intruder, the one that did not belong, and it flew closer with a hiss that floated far across the thorn-studded gap. The vessel had its nail poised to strike, just waiting for its target to come into range-

But the mantis lashed out first, its claws lashing out so far that they seemed to dislodge themselves from the arm itself. Then the vessel found that its eyes had not deceived it _ , _ that the thick casing of the scythe was spinning towards it along an almost unavoidable path. The vessel jumped, letting the scythe pass beneath with a sharp rush of air and hitting its nail against the mantis at the same time. The strike landed, and the mantis recoiled as orange fluid dripped from the slash in its chitin, but the vessel did not have time to give the finishing blow. It had not realised the scythe was still travelling behind, being drawn back to the mantis that had thrown it, and it cut right through the vessel’s body as it landed on a grate suspended in front. The attack almost sent the vessel tumbling off the grate to the thorns below, but it recovered just in time to jump for another grate, then another, trying to avoid the lingering moss flies and the mantis’ attacks at the same time. 

The vessel reached the other side of the staircase of treacherous steps, its shade thudding against its shell as it took another hit in trying to dispatch the mantis once and for all. With one more nail-strike the mantis’ body fell apart, the vile orange fluid seeping out as the corpse fell down to be impaled on the red spikes- like the White Lady was finishing it off herself. The vessel felt no solace in this victory, though. There were more mantises still waiting between this point and the solid ground ahead, and it could feel its shade shivering from the battle with just one of them. It would not survive another encounter. It needed to do better. It needed to kill them faster, hit them harder… 

Or perhaps it did not have to hit them at all. 

The grates were the deciding factor. It did not matter if the vessel had the sharpest nail and the most devastating blows if it could not stand still long enough to land them. It was not quite strong enough, not yet, but it  _ was  _ fast. It could clear the distance between the pillars before the mantises could react, and their scythes would only go so far before travelling back to the one who launched them.

Fast enough to avoid the attacks, careful enough to not fall onto the thorns. The vessel could feel the White Lady’s eyes upon its tattered shell, and its nail suddenly seemed woefully inadequate for the task ahead. But it was all that the vessel had. It was all the vessel could use. 

It  _ had  _ to be enough. And if it wasn’t, that soon would not matter. 

The vessel began the gauntlet, flying from grate to flimsy grate, striking the flimsy bodies as its own flimsy cape cast out from its shoulders like a flag in its wake. The moss flies were easily disposed of, and so it focused on them if they floated too close to its path. The mantises were shocked by the apparition that passed by, their hisses and snarls echoing behind the vessel as it dared not look back, only looking ahead for the next place to land, where to jump to next, where to go to  _ stay alive _ -

Inevitably, it stumbled. So close to the end, just out of reach after bouncing its nail off the brittle hide of an unknowing mantis, it knew that it would not clear the distance. It was failing to the thorns, no matter how it tried to shove itself to the edge or steer itself to any place of safety, any place other than down there where Mother would shake her head in such disappointment…

The vessel knew that it was dead. But the shade within disagreed, and it propelled itself forward with an unknown force that the vessel lagged behind. Just as the body would hit the thorns, their glistening tips starting to tear through the bone and shell, the detached shade pulled its container to safety with long dark tendrils. Then, once the body was retrieved, the shade retreated back within. It still pounded, shuddered, ached with the damage that had been sustained, but nevertheless it knew that this was not the end. The shade would survive for as long as the body was willing, and vice versa. 

The mantises were giving chase, catching up to the vessel while it tried to save itself, and it hurried on to try and lose them. A sign ahead bore a symbol, matching that of the benches that had given the vessel sanctuary, but its relief was short-lived. Another mantis guarded the path to the bench, blocking the way and already buzzing towards its newly-sighted prey. So the vessel took the only other way forward, the only way it knew. A gap in the ceiling, too small for the mantis bodies to fit through. 

Up. If not towards Father, then towards Mother at least.

The vessel found other curiosities beyond the gauntlet that had tried to choke its will, always following the path of thorns. A pit in the ground. A small village close to a stone-levelled path, where these other mantises must have made their homes. There were others here, much larger specimens with huge crests sweeping up from their masks, but gratefully they were asleep with their young. Then, further still, was a lever of elegant design, far more sophisticated than that of the mantis tribe in the land of the fungus. Like it had done with that lever, the vessel did not touch this one. Then there was a small chamber infested with the White Lady’s dangerous touch. These thorns were too closely packed for the vessel to dare venture deeper, though it could see glimpses of a grave nestled in the grove that lay beyond.

But the most curious artefact in its mother’s gardens was something that it swore it had never encountered, yet it still knew exactly what it was. There was a river of Abyss streaming down from a portal, blocking the way forward. The stream was slightly translucent, and the vessel could see the familiar thorns beyond. The White Lady was past this gate, this barrier that the vessel recognised and yet could not place… 

The Abyss. It  _ had  _ travelled through a gate just like this, the one that had lead it from the void sea to Deepnest. It had looked back, through the trickle of void, and saw that the only way forward was to walk away from it. And here it was again, this time on the other side. All gates like this must lead to the Abyss, to the birthplace. And yet, also, they could lead  _ away  _ from it.

_ The void welcomes void. The shade can travel where the shell cannot. But… _

The vessel disobeyed the vital lesson it had learned upon entering this land, and hesitated. If it passed through this gate, it would need to fight against the current. It would need to stop its shade from returning to the Abyss, lest its journey so far be for naught. But what if its body was too weak? If it could not survive the pull, then there would be nothing to shield the shade within from the call of its home. If it perished, then the shade would wander as a failure. The body would not even find its place in the Abyss, to serve as another sibling’s first weapon or warning of what was to come.

_...Good. _

The vessel had that thought, that awful thought, just before it threw itself through the barrier, just before it steeled itself for being torn apart by the ghosts of the ones that came before it.

And yet… it emerged on the other side. It was whole, as whole as it had been on the other side. The Abyss had not noticed its betrayal yet. 

_ Good... _

For if the Abyss had not noticed, then those who had tamed it would hopefully not either. The Pale King. The White Lady.

She was near. Very near. The thorns were glowing with her light, sharp and beautiful, their path almost at its end. The vessel only had to survive one more test, one more maze of falling steps and sharp walls…

It almost didn’t make it. Almost, as its nail struck out and embedded itself into the one wall that was free of tangled thorns. The stone was old, brittle, crumbling around the sharp point that skewered through it. Once again, the vessel had to be fast. The stone did not give nearly as much purchase as the mushrooms it was used to, but there was little time to adjust when the wall could break away at any moment. The vessel threw itself and its shade, bracing itself against the fragile wall, contemplating throwing away the nail if it still meant reaching the top…

But that was not necessary. The gap above was narrow enough to hold the vessel in place as it pulled itself up, into the pavilion perched above the ravine it had just traversed. It was a massive space, wide and tall, though to the White Lady herself it surely would have only just held her size. The world outside was overgrowing through the fine grillwork, the metal stained with pollen and sap, the rust covered with soil where flowers bloomed in defiance. Even so, it was no doubt a lovely place. The vessel was surprised- disappointed, maybe- not to find a bench in such a calm sanctum. 

But it had no time to rest. Beyond the pavilion, through a veil of vines and leaves, it could see burning, glowing branches. No thorns this time, none needed to shield Mother this far into her sanctuary. The vessel’s pace slowed as it entered the glade, the white roots holding steady at their posts, thick cords that fed into a cocoon-like place that emerged from the thick foliage.

_ My Lady. My Queen. My Mother... _

The vessel stepped towards the cocoon, the light of the White Lady growing stronger and stronger, almost blinding… but not enough so to shield the dead bodies that littered this deceptively peaceful place. They were mantises, mostly, the overgrown ones found slumbering in the village. One was different, clad in white armor that was spotless even in death, the shape of her head matching the roots that surrounded her resting place. Her nail was a fine sword, gripped tightly with the end pierced through a mantis’ thick skull, while her other hand was curled in a loose fist. The vessel approached, curious that there was no stench of the rancid dead with so many bodies, and delicately opened the fist with the very top of its nail. Within the guard’s fingers was something small and hard, something that glimmered with a similar light to the Lady herself. Its intricate design was similar too, fine whorls like the branches that graced the White Lady’s being. 

The vessel reached out to take it, and at once a faint voice whispered within its skull.

_ Pale Shield… to protect its wearer when all seems lost. _

This was not the shade talking. It was an unknown voice, and the vessel could not see where it came from. It looked down at its hand, and found the emblem was now attached to what was left of its pupal robes. It did not remember putting it there, and it did not know how it stayed in place without falling to the floor. But with it on its body, the vessel could not deny feeling bolstered. Not quite refreshed, like a moment on a bench would offer, but its shade had stopped shaking. Though, was that just to mask weakness now that it was so close to Mother?

It  _ was _ her. Yes, the vessel was so close that it could reach out and touch a branch, that it could feel its Mother’s roots thrumming under the ground at its feet. She was waiting. She would welcome one who made it through such a trial, who came so far just to see her...

And yet. Yet, the vessel could not move. 

_ Mother did not notice from afar. She would notice now. She would… _

She would brand it a failure. She would strike it down right there, saving the Pale King a messy and wasteful job. The fact that it had even come here, that it had fell victim to the trap of thinking, of  _ feeling _ … it knew. It knew all along the mistake it had made. Until now, it had managed to mask it from itself. But no longer. 

Its purpose was not to find Mother, to seek her for comfort. She was not part of its purpose. It had already strayed too far. Its purpose was clear, its purpose was  _ simple _ , and yet it could not even obey that one directive...

It could not. It could not.

It would not.

It would turn away, and it would go before it could forsake itself any further. And it did so, just as something caught its attention. The gleaming white corpse had another gift to share, something tucked away in her belt. The vessel reached forward, and retrieved a thin metal slab engraved with markings that matched those in the garden’s fences- and, most importantly, those of the machine in Deepnest. 

This would be the key to awaken it, to bring it to life. So the vessel’s journey was not a waste at all. It was not doomed… it was simply finding a way towards the King. Following its purpose. All made sense, all was made right now, all thanks to this simple key carried by a long-forgotten corpse. If the vessel knew her name, maybe it could have thanked her. 

But it knew better than to linger for even a nod of gratitude. If the White Lady was truly watching, it was still judging her spawn. Waiting for it to cross the threshold of her cocoon, or to show any other sign of impurity. Expectations of success and failure both warring with each other, and the vessel could not even ask her which one was winning. Could not even touch her, or see her.

Once Father was found, maybe it could return to this glade. But the vessel let go of the thought before it took root, moved on before those roots could bind it to the ground it stood on and entwine with those of its mother. It had to go back to the Deepnest. To the machine that Father had built, the one that looked like the belly of a sleeping beast. This time it would wake the beast. And, this time, it would not lose its nail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea to include "custom charms" from one of my favorite pieces of lore; that some charms are manifestations of a bug's dying wish. It made sense to me that Dryya's dying wish would be to protect her queen (and that she'd have a tram pass on her body, since all of the Pale Court would logically be allowed to use the trams).


	6. Entry 6: Trial of the Traitor

Leaving Mother’s sanctum did not tear the vessel apart as it had feared. That was good, a sign that all was not yet lost. That it had not yet failed. 

Better still that it knew where it was needed, where it should be. Finding the White Lady had been a useful distraction, but now the vessel was called elsewhere. It knew not how to reach the Deepnest from these lush gardens, but it knew that there was a path that could lead downwards. It would find its way from there. 

The journey away from the secluded glade was, somehow, more perilous than the journey towards it. The vessel had to land carefully when it fell from overgrown ledges to the rusty steel hinges below, the steps still collapsing beneath its feet if it dared linger for too long over the bristling thorns waiting below. When it reached the shade gate it rushed through this time, a conscious contrast to how before it had simply floated through the barrier without thinking- for that was the key, of course. To not think. If the gate noticed the vessel’s violation this time, it did not call attention to it. But to be safe, on the other side it did not stop lest it be dragged back into the river of abyss. It could not return home until its purpose was fulfilled, could not  _ find  _ its home until it was done. The ferns and vines around the vessel rustled in its wake, roots and leaves reaching out. Like its Mother was silently encouraging her spawn, leading it the right way away from her. 

It returned to the slumbering village of mantis youth with shade and soul intact- but this village was not slumbering anymore, and the ones within it were not youths. These were warriors, soldiers, heavy crests framing their wild orange eyes. They gathered around a monolith, a beacon of some kind carved from chitin and draped in ragged silk-

Which then turned to face the vessel, with his cracked mask and horns which dragged through the hair and weighed down heavy on his skull. His eyes, each one pulsing as they absorbed the sight of the vessel standing there, were flooded with the orange fluid that swilled in the other mindless bodies until they finally perished. 

This was not a mere monolith. This was a creature infected and bloated with madness, and his disciples gathered close to protect, to copy, to become one like their master. Each one hissed a different threat at the sight of the vessel.

“Intruder…”

“Spawn of the Root…”

“Enemy of the Traitor Lord…”

The smaller mantises, the guards for this beast, wanted to strike, but a single claw that stretched the length of one of the White Lady’s own roots held them back as it swept down. The so-called Traitor Lord, his body so gargantuan that he didn’t seem to know how to carry it on such thin legs, the weight from his talons dragging in the dirt, parted the sea of soldiers as he stumbled. The vessel had nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to. It could do nothing but watch the swollen creature advance-

_ Need to run, need to get away… cannot fight, cannot win- _

“Pale… p-pale power...” The Traitor Lord spoke in a gurgle of a growl, like the orange in his eyes was bubbling up through his throat. The vessel had to stand its ground. It had to show no fear, no hesitation-

_ No, no, no, I can’t-! _

I? What was that? 

“Mine… mine! Give it to  _ me _ !” the Lord demanded, listing to one side under the weight of his own wrath.

_ He will hurt me, he will kill me, he will-! _

Was that fear? Loss? No, worse. Worse than anything else, the vessel had just committed its second crime. For just a moment, it had almost thought it was a  _ person _ . 

Unforgivable. The punishment for such a thing was far worse than anything this mere mortal Traitor Lord could do. And it was only with that knowledge that the vessel thought to duck under the talon that came swinging around in a lethal arc. As it fell, its ragged egg-remnants fluttering from the breeze of the death just narrowly avoided, it darted between the Lord’s legs to appear behind him with nail bared and shade steeled against the next blow. The Traitor Lord used the momentum of his failed strike to turn his hulking body around, already lashing out with his other claw as the vessel jumped backwards, buying itself some time to assess its surroundings.

The other mantises stayed further back in the village, none daring to interfere with their master’s kill so long as his victory was guaranteed. Some had blocked off the way out of this stone overlook, but none seemed concerned of their prey escaping. The vessel only had to keep going backwards, just enough so that it could leap over the mantis’ heads and leave them all behind. Even if the soldiers gave chase, the Lord himself would struggle to fit through such a slim gap in the stonework. By the time he could carve out enough space for himself the vessel would already be far away, tumbling down the hole in the ground. 

This was not a battle to win, but to survive.

“Hollow… vessel… ancient… enemy…!” The Traitor Lord used his mantis army as a barricade, driving its prey into them so it could corner and destroy that who dared to trespass before him. The vessel had to be aware of the bristling claws all around, the impatient youth and their buzzing wings eager to prove themselves in front of their Lord, as some would swipe out to knock it off balance and distract it long enough for-

The Traitor Lord’s claw tore through the vessel in a gust of jagged wind, and the impact sent it sprawling away at his feet. The shade within the broken body almost fled entirely, flinching away from the hard fall in a way only experienced once before. The bloated things in Deepnest, the ones that could not be killed. The Lord was of the same breed, the same infected blood, and he stared down at the vessel like it was a wriggling worm. Like he wanted to slice it in half, and see if it would really turn into two- the shade and the shell, rent apart forever by his hand.

He was reading another strike, and the vessel stood knowing it would not survive this one, that it had failed after all.

...Or so it had expected. The claw came crashing down with a mighty groan, a premature victory fanfare, and the vessel felt a  _ thud  _ in the air surrounding it. Yet the shade did not break, the shell did not splinter. The vessel found that a shimmering shield held off the Lord’s attack, glowing with a light that came from its own body, that felt so familiar yet so alien to everything it so intimately knew. 

_ The Pale Shield… _

Once the vessel confirmed that the protection came from the charm on its robes, the Lord finally stepped back just as the shield dissolved with a sound like tinkling glass. The vessel found the charm had changed its design, now bearing a crack down its center from the force of what it had just done. The spell would not work a second time, so this was the vessel’s only chance to escape while the Traitor Lord was confused. It looked up at the colossal mantis, relieved that his deadly claws now lay still at his sides and his dazed eyes were blind to what lay in front of him- but before it could dart between the immobile legs, the Traitor Lord let loose a roar that made the garden’s stone foundations tremor all around. It tapered off as a gurgle filled his throat, the liquid taint bubbling around his skull, and he babbled blindly as his gargantuan body collapsed under his own weight. 

“Bright… bright beloved… so bright…”

And then, forgetting that the vessel was even there, the Lord’s mantis army surged around him like ants tending to their queen.

“Lord? Rise, stand tall!”

“The light, the radiant promise, she speaks to him! Silence!”

The Traitor Lord coughed, spitting up something vile even as he continued to mumble.

“Blessed one… blessed strength and glow… this one…? This one is… a child...” Then a claw lashed out, a mighty scythe that shoved aside the unlucky mantises who stood in his way. The Lord picked himself up, trembling on his talons, pulling himself forward by digging them into the ground. 

“A… A daughter… sweet child… where… where is your father, little one?” He looked right at the frozen vessel, orange light dripping from his eyes, the infection draining away down his face. The mantises around him started to hiss.

“My Lord…”

“This thing… empty. No child. No voice. No mind.”

And yet they did not attack the vessel, with all their attention on their fallen Lord. The vessel too could not look away, could not move even though it would not have another chance to escape. 

The Traitor Lord was a father keening for his young, his… daughter? Did his blind gaze make him mistake the vessel for something it was not? It met the Lord’s weeping eyes, and through the film of orange it could see something glimmering. Clear tears building behind the black socket.

“Where is my… my little one… my Rosary…? My sisters…?” The Traitor Lord’s voice rattled in his bloated shell, buried under the infection seeping through. Then his scythe whipped out towards the nearest watchful mantis, almost slicing it in half as he shrieked.

“Where are they… my kin! My village! What did you  _ do _ with them, Wyrm!?” He looked to the vessel; he was no longer blind, the vessel was no longer safe, and the mantises were no longer blocking the way out. Despite standing frozen, the brief respite in battle gave it the strength to clear the distance left to the space between the stones, ignoring the surprised hissing and snarls rustling the air behind as it ran, falling into the hole in the overgrown ground without a glance backwards. 

Only once it confirmed that none had followed, too distracted by their Lord’s sudden rage, did the vessel stop and collapse amongst the cold grass. If it lay low to the ground, surrounded by the soft stalks, it would be invisible for a moment. It could rest in the cradle of leaves, as if being cradled by its mother watching from somewhere not far enough away. 

The Traitor Lord was a parent, too. Mourning the loss, or the absence, of his child. The vessel wondered if the Pale King would be doing the same. Then it wondered if it was allowed to wonder.

The vessel did not linger there for much longer. 

As it threaded its way down to the garden’s foundations, avoiding all open areas where mantises could be patrolling, it could not help running numb fingers around the cracked charm on its robes. The soldier’s corpse had held some kind of powerful spell that had somehow spared the vessel from the jaws of death. But only once. The charm itself was not strong enough to contain the spell, the vessel assumed, and so it would not work a second time. But the vessel did not dispose of it. There was a faint glow in the cracks, that shone through its hand like it was transparent silk, and it brought a faint sense of…

Comfort. 

The vessel labelled the feeling, even though it knew it should not. Recognising fear was grievous enough. Father would be displeased. It would have to silence such things before meeting him at last.

And that time was coming ever closer, simultaneously soothing and terrifying as if the two could balance each other on the scales. The corpse near Mother’s sanctum had also held a pass for the machine in Deepnest, and as the vessel approached the bottom of the garden it was faced with a chasm, surrounded by cobwebs. It had a sudden urge to reach out for one of them, to compare the silk of the web to that of its skin, and it dropped into the chasm before such a thing could become tempting, letting the webs and leaves brush past in freefall. 

At the bottom, the impact ringing in the vessel’s skull, it found two paths. One led into a narrow tunnel, the other continuing downwards. Within the tunnel it could hear a clicking, a tapping, a swishing like the stroke of a brush, and further in still it found the source of the noise. 

“A mask, you would seek? Or simply company, in this new lonely kingdom? Only one, I can provide with ease.” The creature turned his pronged head towards the vessel, not at all jarred by the sudden visit, his spindly limbs continuing to work away with the brush and carver they held. The mask he was creating matched the others littered around, some giant ones propped against the worktable and other smaller specimens stacked atop each other in miniature mountains. 

“Not many of you make it to the peak of this realm,” the bug continued, a hint of surprise echoing behind his own mask. “Others I’ve seen, others that escaped after the Hollow one, now only corpses. Perhaps they might have survived with a new face. A new identity, to mask the empty one that the great Wyrm forced upon them. Or, if one is not as empty as one would hope, then they might hide behind their guise, and hope that the light does not find them before they can escape.”

As he stared at the vessel, similar yet wholly different to how the Traitor Lord appraised his unlikely prey, the mask maker seemed to see something amusing. 

“Ah well. You don’t seem in need of my services, comfortable as you are with the mask of your birth. For your sake, I hope that holds true.” A wheeze whistled out through his blank eyeholes as he turned his attention back to his work. And the vessel stood there, watching the mask-making bug with- caution? Curiosity? It did not know the difference between the two. Then it left before it could discover such a thing, taking the path back towards the depths.

This time, with greater knowledge and bolstered shade, the vessel journeyed through Deepnest as it should have in the first place; with skill, and speed, and a goal. Before long it reached a familiar and welcoming sight, the glowing spring and the cold bench beside it. It took care not to sit for too long, knowing that the great machine was close at hand, that it could not afford to wait and stay vulnerable.

At the platform, the contraption sat dead and immobile as always. The vessel retrieved the pass from within its shade, finding only one place next to the door where it would fit. As the slim metal clicked inside, the machine groaned as lights within awakened and a faint chime played as the doors slid apart. Inside was a narrow yet tall space, with switches at either end and a padded seat in the middle. Only one switch was alight, at the farthest end. The vessel pressed it because there was nothing else to press, and the doors slammed shut as the machine started to shake. Then the blurred view from the stained windows started to change, as the tram began its course. 

The vessel, frozen momentarily as it tried not to fear the sudden possibility of the machine falling apart all around it, now found itself lost for the first time since leaving the abyss. There was nothing to do except wait for the tram to reach its destination, wherever it might be. 

It pulled itself up onto the curved seat, much softer than the benches it had come across thus far, trying not to sink in as it sat down. 

And, without meaning to, it thought.

_ ‘The Hollow one…?’ _

There could only be one hollow vessel, the destiny of any made in the abyss. This one had betrayed minor defects so far, it admitted, but truly its survival until now proved that it was worthy of being Father’s chosen one. But then why would the mask maker say there was another? That one had already emerged long before?

If so, then Father already had his champion. There was no need for any other vessels. No need to escape from the abyss… no need for-

The vessel was saved as the tram lurched to a sudden stop, the end of the line. Through the doors, the landscape was impenetrable, foreboding. White motes swirled in the air, calling back to the fungus spores from what felt so long ago, casting feeble light in the darkness. Not dark like the Deepnest, buried underground, but dark as an abandoned and neglected place. The vessel might have turned back, to leave this place as abandoned as it seemed, if one of the stray motes did not float down to land on its shoulder. 

It burned right through the shade, with no pain or shock on the part of the vessel, for it knew what this meant. This speck of dust was part of the Pale King, brimming with his glow. 

He was near. He was waiting. The vessel struggled not to feel as it followed the path laid out by its Father’s presence, walking into his embrace to accept whatever came of his final judgement. 

Yet, despite its efforts, it thought once more of the Traitor Lord. If he spoke of his daughter with sadness because he was proud, too proud to let her go, or because he was disappointed in what she had become.

**Author's Note:**

> The journey that the vessel takes is structured so that the canon Hallownest is left as "intact" as possible (e.g. this vessel won't flip switches, open doors, etc. that aren't open by the time the player enters the game). In cases where areas are usually blocked off entirely (e.g. Queen's Gardens), there is a lore reason given for how this vessel can reach them while our player character cannot.


End file.
